


The Search For Raphael

by NothingSoSpecial



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley Was Not Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2020-07-28 06:58:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20059912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingSoSpecial/pseuds/NothingSoSpecial
Summary: A year after the End that Wasn’t, Aziraphale and Crowley have settled back into their respective lives without too much complaint on their parts; free from the conflicts of both Heaven and Hell – and finally able to start their lives together in earnest. But when an ancient Sigil turns up in Aziraphale’s bookshop and attracts some very much unwanted attention, it takes the help of two very unlikely allies to solve a mystery more than 6,000 years in the making.





	The Search For Raphael

**The Search For Raphael**

**Chapter One: Lost & Found.**

** _“Death is a challenge. It tells us not to waste time…_ **

** _It tells us to tell each other right now that we love each other.”_ **

**− Leo Buscaglia.**

**R****aphael’s Sigil was discovered in Aziraphale’s bookshop on a quiet, rainy afternoon in the middle of spring.** It was wedged in the crack of an oak bookshelf behind a stack of heavy, antique volumes that he had been meaning to move for weeks but hadn’t gotten around to until now. The Sigil was inlaid on a small, shiny silver pendant, miraculously without a scratch, and still warm to the touch despite being jammed into that cold, dusty shelf for God only knew how long.

Aziraphale spotted it almost immediately; glittering like a little beacon in that dark corner, trapped in the crack of wood between the backing, just barely visible even to his well–trained eye. He reached in and struggled to pry it free from its prison before finally managing it with a pleased exclamation a few moments later, careful not to accidentally crush his new treasure.

“Oh!” Aziraphale gasped, holding it up in the dim light of the shop, twisting and turning it in deft fingers and marveling at how it could still shine even in the wretched dark that seemed to hang over the entire shop when it rained; though certainly the heavy curtains drawn over the windows didn’t help. When he turned it right, it lit up beautifully, glowing like an oversized, flickering firefly in his palm, “How _curious!”_

Aziraphale knew every book, every trinket in his shop by glance, so finding something like this – something so beautiful, so _rare_ – without even knowing it had been there in the first place was an exquisite treat indeed.

“What did you find, angel?” Crowley piped up from behind him, from his spot on the couch where he’d been comfortably spread out for the past few hours. With a coffee in hand, he’d been watching as Aziraphale organized and re-organized his shelves; knowing better than to interrupt or even just offer his assistance – plus, it was too much fun watching his partner fuss about, exclaiming over each item and greeting it like an old, sorely-missed friend, “Something good?”

Aziraphale turned and crossed the small room to open his hand up for Crowley; revealing the pendant in his palm, Sigil still flickering inlaid in the smooth, pressed metal. The Demon’s brows perked up instantly in curiosity when he saw the shiny silver, but as he squinted and he took in what was inlaid in the smooth metal, he looked reasonably startled.

“Is that a Sigil?” Crowley peered down at it, curiously, his sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as Aziraphale let him take it from him, “I don’t think I’ve seen one of these in millennia. Don’t know who’s it is, though.”

“Well, we did stop using them some time ago. There are easier ways to contact each other now,” Aziraphale answered, patiently, watching Crowley turn it over in his hands, still inquisitive, “I believe this one belonged to Raphael.”

“Raphael?” That made Crowley look up, startled, _“Archangel _Raphael? As in Gabriel’s brother?”

“And Michael’s, yes,” The corners of Aziraphale’s mouth tightened, as it always did on the rare times Gabriel or the other Angels were brought up – and Crowley couldn’t blame him. The over-glorified bureaucrats weren't exactly high on his list either, after seeing firsthand how they treated his best friend. That hadn’t changed even after not seeing hide nor hair of them for over a year, “I don’t remember _when,_ exactly, but Raphael went missing. No one ever found him, so to find one of his Sigils here, intact? A miracle.”

Crowley handed it back to Aziraphale, and the Angel smiled down at it, fond.

“Did you know I knew him? Raphael was one of the few Archangels who stayed on Earth. We even worked together for a while, just before he disappeared,” the Angel mused softly, almost sadly, as he sat down on his usual overstuffed armchair, next to Crowley; the other volumes and work evidently forgotten now, “There aren’t many of these still intact. I thought by now they’d all be used or broken, or maybe found and brought Upstairs to Gabriel… perhaps I ought to give it to him…”

“Wait, you aren’t thinking of going up there, are you?” Crowley interrupted him, sounding thoroughly scandalized, “Why?”

“Why not? There was a mandate, long ago,” Aziraphale answered, simply, with a shrug, apparently not seeing anything wrong with his – rather dangerous – train of thought, “Bring all Raphael’s Sigils to Gabriel, even if they’re broken. I just thought it might help.”

“We haven’t heard from either of our sides in over a year, angel,” Crowley pointed out, as gently as he could, putting his hand over Aziraphale’s, over the Sigil, after a long, considering moment, twining their fingers together to hide the – literally – blessed thing from view, finally taking the Angel’s attention away from it for a moment, “I’d figure drawing attention to ourselves would be a bad idea?

“But…” Aziraphale furrowed his brow at him, but then after a moment sighed, looking down at their twined hands and then nodding slowly in hesitant agreement, “Yes, my dear, you’re right. It was a lesser order anyway; those are so easy to forget…"

“Right you are,” Crowley said, kindly, letting go of Aziraphale’s hand as he stood up, loudly clearing his throat, “You’ve finished moving those books, right? Let’s go for supper. It shouldn’t start raining for another couple of hours."

Aziraphale slid the Sigil into his pocket as he agreeably stood up to get his coat.

**N._.s._.S**

**T** **hey were being watched.**

_Luckily, by the time they were ready to leave the shop, it wasn’t raining quite yet, though you could smell the impending storm in the air. But Crowley felt it the moment he crossed the threshold outside; waiting for Aziraphale to finish locking up by the Bentley parked in front. He tossed glaring looks over his shoulder, hoping to scare whoever - whatever - it was away by sheer force of will, but of course there was nothing there. He could have sworn he saw something in the alley directly across the street from the shop, but before he could even think about possibly investigating, Aziraphale was at his side, a hand quickly clasping over his own._

_“Are you all right, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, concerned but still soft, brows furrowing as he tried glancing out toward the dark alleyway, trying to spot whatever Crowley had been looking at._

_“It’s nothing,” Crowley answered, quickly, not wanting to alarm him, “Let’s go.”_

_The feeling followed him as they elected to walk to one of the nearby restaurants instead of going further into town. In this neighborhood, everyone seemed to know Aziraphale – and now by extension himself, so it was easy to quickly get service and to disappear into the crowd. Aziraphale had chosen a crowded Italian restaurant close to the shop, and despite the rain, insisted on the outdoor patio to take their meal; ordering wine and coffee to start as he looked over the menu, chattering happily with the crowd._

_But the feeling was terrible, relentless, and Crowley kept catching himself looking over his shoulder every few minutes, desperate to find the source. Luckily, however, Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice as he talked animatedly about the history of Sigils, his excitement over finding Raphael’s not yet abated, happy to fill the silence as usual as they were served their food and coffee. He laughed and drank with him, but each time Aziraphale blinked or was tucking into his food, Crowley kept checking. Could the forces of Hell actually be up to something now, over a year after his “betrayal?” Or, worse, perhaps it was Gabriel – or Michael – here to smite their fellow Angel after his?_

_"My dear?” Crowley hadn’t noticed Aziraphale watching him, his brilliant azure eyes alight with concern as he reached over to take his hand, setting down the coffee mug in the Demon’s hand that he hadn’t realized was shaking so badly that some of it had sloshed down the side, “Crowley, my goodness, what’s wrong?”_

_"It’s nothing, just thinking,” Crowley had answered, with a smile he knew the Angel couldn’t resist as he took the cheque, “Why don’t we start heading back? Wouldn’t want to get wet, eh?”_

_While the feeling of being watched was gone by the time they left the restaurant and the rain started on their way back to the shop, now Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s worried gaze on him instead._

_As soon as the door to the shop was closed and they were safe from prying eyes again, Crowley kissed him; hard, fierce enough to render his angel speechless, concern and curiosity thrown to the back of his mind as he pressed him into the nearest hard surface. It wasn't the most honest thing to do, of course –_

_But whoever accused a Demon of being honest?_

**N._.s._.S**

**T****housands of years ago, before cell phones or totally–not–haunted answering machines, Sigils were a powerful communication tool that spanned Heaven, Hell, Earth, and everywhere in between.** They became less and less useful in modern times, but they were still used by certain people across the board – like Gabriel, who only grasped the concept of pen and paper recently and would never, God forbid, use a cell phone. Aziraphale had received several of his Sigils throughout his 6,000–year tenure on Earth, usually containing orders, and he usually tried not to think about those too often.

The sound of Gabriel’s voice wasn’t _unpleasant,_ per se, but it was… well, okay, maybe it was, just a little. Although the third-eldest Archangel spoke very well and never raised his voice, there was something about his tone that put the little hairs on the back of Aziraphale’s neck on end every time he heard it; like an unspoken, thinly veiled threat that just dared you to press it.

At that moment, Crowley muttered something in his sleep and pressed his face into Aziraphale’s side, his arm that had snaked around his middle tightening before quickly loosening again. Aziraphale just chuckled to himself and kept carding his fingers gently through his dark red hair; grateful for the distraction – and the warm body next to his.

Aziraphale turned the page with his free hand, keeping his other hand firmly buried in Crowley’s soft hair. Unlike most Angels and Demons who didn’t need sleep and frankly found it a waste of time, Crowley seemed to benefit from it; becoming irritable and twitchy when he stayed awake for more than two or three days on end. While Aziraphale didn’t really sleep either, unused to being unconscious and afraid of the nightmares that were usually brought with it, he enjoyed watching his partner during these times, while he was so peaceful and relaxed.

Crowley had behaved oddly this evening. He had noticed how his love had kept looking behind them as they walked, as they ate, every few moments. He figured Crowley had seen something – _or someone_ – that had disturbed him, and knew he was simply trying to protect him; from indulging his talking to that searing, distracting kiss the moment they were back behind closed doors, the relief in being safe almost palatable as they moved on to other, better things.

Aziraphale glanced at the bedside table, where he’d placed Raphael’s Sigil after finding it strewn with the rest of their clothes, when Crowley had already fallen asleep.

It occurred to him then that he couldn’t even remember Raphael’s face. He knew the others by name, of course, despite them often forgetting his.

What he did remember, however, was the Archangel’s brilliant emerald green eyes; always alight and fond, filled with a kind of wisdom and kindness that Aziraphale had not seen the like of since, certainly not in the eyes of his brother’s. He remembered six, pure white wings that spanned bigger than many of the others’, warm and forever protective – and healing powers so great it could stop the agonizing burn of even Hellfire in a simple touch of strong but always incredibly gentle hands.

Aziraphale knew there had been many investigations into Raphael’s disappearance over the past few thousand years, usually by Gabriel – though those had all been fruitless. No one really knew for sure if Raphael hadn't left _voluntarily,_ either. Even God, in all Her infinite wisdom, could not say where he was – so wherever he did go, wherever he was…

Goodness, he was thinking too much into this, wasn’t he? Raphael was gone, and no Sigil miraculously appearing in his shop was going to bring him back!

With a sigh, Aziraphale closed the book and lay back underneath the blankets, snuggling closer to Crowley and slowly wrapping his arms around him, careful not to wake him – he would deal with this more in the morning. He looked down at his partner and smiled as the Demon immediately embraced him back. For someone who once slammed him into a wall and claimed not to be “nice,” he certainly treated him with far more kindness than Gabriel or the others over the many millennia they'd known each other.

Crowley nuzzled into Aziraphale's neck and muttered something else, incomprehensible. Aziraphale buried his hand into the other man's hair and sighed, content, closing his eyes.

That night, the nightmares never came. Instead, he dreamt of deep green eyes and a familiar voice calling out his name in the dark, like a sweet whisper in his ear.

_“Aziraphale.”_

**N._.s._.S**

**Author's Note:**

> Pictures for Raphael's sigil were found here:  
https://guardianangelguide.com/archangel-sigils/
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Please comment and let me know what you think! - Hawke / NothingSoSpecial


End file.
